


Fuckin' Ghosts, Man.

by Marveljunkie



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2k17 [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Dean, Fluff, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, delirious Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marveljunkie/pseuds/Marveljunkie
Summary: Ouch, said Sam.





	Fuckin' Ghosts, Man.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doctor__idiot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/gifts).



"Sam!" Dean yells as Sam drops like a sack of potatoes when the ghost gets the drop on him. He's quick to through the lighter on the salted remains and dash to Sam's side. 

"Sam? Sammy." He manhandles Sam onto his side so he can get a look and fuck. Looks like Sam landed on his own knife on his way down. Shit. 

"Dean?" Sam slurs. "Ow..." 

"Ow is right." Dean groans. "You got a nasty looking case of stab-itis, little bro." 

"Aw fuck." Sam whines. "Happy damn new year to me."

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "Well, Cmon. Let's get you up an outta here so I can take care of that." 

"Motherfucking ghosts," Sam grunts, struggling to get his legs under him as Dean ducks under his arm to wrestle him up. "Who's idea were they?" 

Dean makes an encouraging noise and manages to get him up and walking, as Sam continues to ramble. 

"Seriously... Who decided that we needed fucking people hanging around after they died?" Sam mumbles. "Why couldn't they just... Die." 

"Dunno, Sammy." Dean replies absently, focused on guiding Sam into the car without dropping or jostling. 

"S'fucking stupid." Sam insists. "Shoulda never done it." 

"Whatever you say." Dean agrees, just trying to keep Sam talking. 

Sam rambles on as Dean calls another hunter in the area, asking him to finish clean up while he tends to Sam. The guy agrees and Dean takes them back to the hotel. 

Sam seems to be fading, which will be just as well. Taking the knife out and stitching it up will hurt like a bitch. 

He half carries half drags his barely lucid brother into the motel room and lays him on the bed. "Gonna patch you up, baby boy." He murmurs, taking a moment to brush the sweaty hair off Sam's forehead and kiss it tenderly. "Just hold on for me." 

About twenty minutes later and a good amount of stitches, Dean cleans and bandages the wound. 

"Whass th'verdic'?" Sam mumbles, barely present. 

"You'll live." Dean announces, patting his leg. "You're gonna be just fine." 

"Mmm. Thanks." 

Dean cleans them both up as well as he can and curls into bed with Sam. "Get some rest. I'll be here." 

Sam doesn't respond verbally, too worn out, but his hand slowly inches over til he can loosely grip Deans hand and squeeze gratefully.


End file.
